


Hearth

by NekoAisu



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: ((it's super light and very much in passing)), ((safe recreational drinking)), Drinking & Talking, Family Feels, Fluff, Galas, Gen, Holidays, Parties, Platonic Relationships, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 22:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/NekoAisu
Summary: Noctis keeps a lot of things in his Armiger. There are everyday items right next to keepsakes, gift-wrapping supplies floating around somewhere near the cat treats, snacks, weapons, and potions sitting pretty in their own corner for training days. He thinks he’s prepared for the annual Citadel Solstice Gala with myriad comics piled to near bursting in his space Between, but then there’s Lady Augustine and her set of annoyingly eligible daughters and his plans for a relatively courtship-free evening are thrown off the balcony sooner than a wayward carrot on his plate.





	Hearth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avianscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianscribe/gifts).



> For the ever resplendent Avianscibe! Happy holidays! <3

With exactly fifty-three volumes of _Stormblood_ shoved into his Armiger, Noctis is decently sure his father will know how little he’s looking toward the two hundred fifty sixth annual Solstice Gala.

He has his own corner of the Crystal’s realm, sure, but his father feels all the larger ripples in space─the ones where he tears a broadsword into being, or rends realms apart to pull out every single one of his dreaded textbooks for end of term essays (the set he’d needed for finals had made the table creak. Regis himself had agreed that no class should need five entire privately published studies to be taught, much less when they’re named _Ancient Lucian History: A Series of Works_ like it’ll somehow magic up quality befitting of the price tags).

It’s no secret they both don’t have a taste for the nigh incomprehensible social niceties the High Court requires of them even with the ‘Guard feeding them names and information via earpieces to help them keep up with the demand for their audience. They have traditions, ones that go far enough back Noctis is decently sure they’re only ever skipped them once during his senior year because he got the flu so bad he had to be hospitalized for a week, and the comics are a reminder of one such activity. The day of, they look nice while they smile and wave, but the night of is spent dodging politicians and courtship offerings in favor of eating all the desserts they can and trash talking the insufferable nobles they mutually dislike (the comics are a great way to pass time while hiding in the bathroom when the Lady of Too Many Daughters is after him).

He brushes off his shirt, picking bits of cat fur piece by piece from his pants, and sighs. He doesn’t mind formalwear all that much. It’s all Lucian Black and embroidered with the Lucis Caelum House crest. It’s not like people need a reminder, but the shimmering gold thread is stunning enough to make up for the lack of an all-black ensemble. There’s not much to complain about when it’s all tailor made and comfortable enough he’d consider sleeping in it─suit jacket and all─if not for the fact that it would gain him the ire of their resident head seamstress.

Prompto had said, once, that it’s easy to forget that “Noct is a prince, y’know? And it’s not until I see him in suits and on TV that I remember, _oh yeah!_ My BFF is the crown prince of Lucis. _Wild.”_

They’d laughed over it for a good few minutes before Noctis admitted, “I forget I’m a prince when I’m over, too. Your family is good to me. _You’re_ good to me, Prom, and I’m pretty sure you’re the best buddy anyone could ever have.”

Prompto made sure to invite him over for dinner more often, after that.

Then, Regis had caught wind of it and showed up in slacks and a casual button-up with a casserole in hand for such a reason as “to say thanks” (as if the Argentums would let him. Not when they adopted Noctis as their fifth son like it was normal for their youngest to make friends with the Prince of Lucis and invite him over for dinner twice a week). They just ushered the king inside and pulled out a chair from storage, asked if he had any particular allergies they should be aware of, and told him that Noctis and Prompto had gone out back to care for the cats the house had become host to while dinner was cooking.

Noctis wished he could be celebrating with them. Their house always proved to be the most comforting of all his usual haunts and they’d told him on no uncertain terms that it would be lovely to have him over for any part of the festivities, traditional Lucian and Niflheimr both included. He’d smiled and fumbled his way through a refusal like they weren’t already more than aware of his need to attend nearly all the public main events. Prompto had pressed a bag of pastry into his hand on his way out and clapped him on the back in a show of solitude.

With a wish of good luck and a playful thumbs up, Noctis had headed back home to get ready. Now, with his suit on and myriad forms of entertainment stashed in the space Between, he still feels unprepared.

The clock by his bed flashes 19:28 in bright blue.

He takes a few minutes to calm himself and settle his nerves.

Gladiolus knocks at his door, opening it before Noctis can respond. “Ready, princess?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he replies, attempting to ignore exactly how tired he already is _without_ having braved the seas of Citadel party gossip for hours on end. The walk from the Caelum Royal wing to the main corridor goes all too quickly, a blink and they’re in an elevator heading down to the Star of Lucis.

Ignis smiles at them from the backseat, suit impeccably pressed as always and glasses suspiciously absent. He’s surprisingly lax about their behavior at parties despite the press presence at such public events (although it may have something to do with how The Rogue herself drank a good five bottles of Tenebrae’s best vintage and proceeded to hurl a rather backwards official out a window. She’d also then proposed to her Shield and passed out shortly thereafter. It would be hard to top that even if they made a collective effort).

Gladiolus laughs when they’re all piled into the car, Noctis complaining about how cramped it is stuck next to “a walking pile of beef and protein shakes” as if that’ll keep him safe from Gladiolus’s rather purposeful leaning. For Shiva’s sake, they’re supposed to be _adults,_ but if Clarus and Regis’s dynamic was anything to go by, they may never grow out of their childishness.

The thirty minutes it takes to arrive put them at exactly eight o’ clock sharp. It’s apparently just the right time to snatch a few champagne flutes and duck over to where Regis and Clarus are raising their own minor levels of hell. Ignis isn’t sure he’s ever seen the Altissian delegates so sloshed before. The party had only truly commenced an hour ago and nothing more, but he’s more than aware of how watered down their imports tend to be in order to survive travel at sea.

Regis spots them first and stands from his makeshift throne of rich furs and gilding to pull them all into a hug. “Ah, the men of the hour appear! I take it the traffic wasn’t bad as last year?”

“‘Course not,” Gladiolus replies genially. “We had Nyx driving us this time.”

Regis laughs and it’s a blessedly honest sound. He retreats to his chair to warm back up, beckoning them to follow. The Frostbearer’s gifts make Noctis thankful for the thermal under-layers he’d elected to wear. A freezing breeze whips by and bites his cheeks pink same as it does all others, ruffling his hair and leaving delicate feathers of ice in its wake.

“It seems the goddess herself felt it fit to join us in the festivities,” Ignis comments, pulling his coat ever tighter about his shoulders as if he’d neglected to put it on after they’d exited the car. Noctis pulls a spare knit scarf from the Armiger and offers it like such feats of magic are meant to be used casually. Clarus raises a brow when Noctis then yanks the entirety of a down comforter from the space Between and drapes it over his chair, cozying up next to his father before the party is in full swing.

Gladiolus plops down next to his own and pulls Ignis along with him, Clarus huffing a laugh at Ignis’s complete lack of resistance to the cold. “Need another coat, son? His Coat-hoarding Majesty has a veritable closet’s worth with him as per usual.”

Noctis cackles over something his father says loud enough to cover Ignis’s frantic “no thank you, sir”s to the point he ends up with two more Lucian Black coats a good few sizes too large for him. There are, of course, packets of chocolate and breath mints in the pockets. Noctis has the same habit, but with gummy candy and cat treats.

It’s barely five minutes before the Niflheimr delegate from Northern Gralea approaches them. She’s more the reasonable sort than the general from the southern gates. It’s clear she’s allied to the people more than their emperor and Regis don’t have to force himself to be civil so much as he does to carry a conversation. She leaves them after exchanging greetings and wishing them all a good Solstice, thanks for the invitation tacked on neatly unlike her counterpart who had come by before the prince and retinue arrived.

Clarus is glad for it, knowing the prince’s temper. They’d best leave holiday fights to the Oracle line and their penchant for starting altercations at random. He’d not have taken well to the boorish way the general had introduced himself, sneering and spitting like a daemonified coeurl when he’d choked his way through his thanks to the Lucian king.

After a couple more occurrences of High Court dickery, Clarus had simple suggested getting everyone beyond drunk. Regis could not have agreed more if he tried. They’d ended up with the entirety of the Accordan Alliance well and truly plastered within the hour and more than a little gossip to turn over to the staff in charge of PR management. The bit about High Commander Ravus’s apparent love to talk down to literally anyone in range was no surprise, but his love for fruity drinks did not go unnoticed. Nor did the Emperor’s habit of seeing an aesthetician twice a week (for _what_ nobody seemed to know).

Regis laughs when Noctis signals for a waiter to bring them more drinks. “I remember the first time you had champagne. Your mother would have had a fit if she’d seen you drinking at sixteen.”

“Yeah, but she’d also have had a fit if she saw you hiding half your paperwork in the Armiger, so…” He trails off when his flute is refilled. “Thank you.”

He waits until the waiter’s back is tuned before downing it in one go.

Ignis gives him a vaguely horrified look for his effort. He gets a shrug in reply.

It takes them two hours before they can break out the comic books, brightly printed pages hard to read in the low light of a late night party but no less engaging. Noctis pulls out his phone somewhere around ten thirty and takes a selfie with his father, sending it to Prompto with the caption: _Wish you were here. Dad says he wants your opinion on chapter 72 because mine is “against royal decree” :’(_

Gladiolus helps him take one of all of them, larger wingspan granting him barely enough reach to fit all of them in the frame. The picture is a little blurry and the holiday filter only maps onto Clarus’s comically severe expression, but it’s _perfect_ and Noctis sends it to Iris.

She’s spending the night with Jared and Talcott in the Amicitia manor to decorate and coat all the presents in a healthy layer of craft glitter and had warned Clarus that he can’t have any fun without her, or she’d hide all her presents for him. It’s part of why he’d made such a face for the photo. She shoots back a near incomprehensible string of emojis the moment the picture arrives before sending back a photo of a roaring hearth and a very comfortable looking Jared reclining on the couch. He has a pile of yarn next to him, brightly dyed skeins arranged carefully to match the pattern of colors in the blanket he’s working on.

It reminds Noctis of the years he’d been bedridden, when his father had wheeled him over to his favorite armchair and sat him on his lap right by the fire. He still remembers the soothing heat of the flames and the rise and fall of his father’s chest against his back lulling him to sleep. He’d wake up to snow outside and the bright smell of spiced citrus loaves.

It’s not much of a mystery on what was better at beating off the cold─the fire, or his father holding him delicately close.

There’s no fire here, no hearth to tend, but he’s still warm from tip to toe. His hearth is where his heart is.

It’s with his blood family, both through covenant and through fatherhood.

There’s nowhere else so magnificently idyllic. Nowhere that makes him feel so loved and needed.

He sends his prayer of thanks to Shiva and her messengers for their blessing. They’ve lived through many a hard season, many an impossible year, and yet they’re still kicking despite it all.

A cold breeze answers him, tickling his nose and leeching warmth from his bones.

He smiles.

For all their faults and shortcomings, numerous as they may be, Noctis is more than happy to call them family.

Then, Gladiolus is cackling something awful and the party marches ever onward. The feeling only grows once they’re all back inside the Citadel and shaking snow from their clothes before a roaring fire. Noctis is drifting off, still in his suit and laying half across Ignis’s legs when he slurs, “G’night. Love you.”

It’s such a general statement, not meant for one person in particular, and they all answer him in kind.

“We love you too, Noctis.”

**Author's Note:**

> kudos? blessed  
> comments? literally ambrosia  
> concrit? super helpful and heavily encouraged
> 
> hmu on:  
> tumblr | kiriami-sama  
> twitter | FlamingAceKiri  
> discord | NekoAisu#7099


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